


Ius Gentium

by Quillori



Category: Ultraviolet (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/pseuds/Quillori





	Ius Gentium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knitmeapony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitmeapony/gifts).



 

 

"Can I join you, Dr Oswin?"

"You can call me Sarah, you know."

"Sarah it is then," Toby Goddard said, sitting down opposite her at the canteen table. "I was just wondering how things are going, with the trial you know, not that you can really tell me, I suppose, and my father's doing very well, he seems fine, very optimistic, it was just..." He trailed off into embarrassed silence, staring unhappily down at the table,

Sarah sighed. "I've heard the rumours too. I can assure you we monitor these things very carefully. The trial would be aborted if we thought there were dangerous side effects, and it's not, you know, as though trying things out on actual people is the first step. We have to jump through all sorts of hoops first to make sure any risk is worth it." 

Toby looked up quickly. "Oh no, I wasn't meaning you were being careless or I thought you were to blame or anything. I've seen how you are with Dad: I know you really care about the patients." He bit his lip and went back to staring stubbornly at the plastic tabletop. "It's just we were all so concerned about Dad going blind, and now people are dead and we don't know what to think."

To which there was very little Sarah could say. Seven people were dead, and while there was no actual proof it related to the treatment, no prior reason to expect those sort of side effects, it didn't look like a coincidence to her either, and if Toby didn't hold her responsible, he was about the only one who didn't. This would do nothing at all for her career.

* * *

"Cheer up," Frances said, putting the drinks on the table and smiling encouragingly at Mike. "At least I've decided you're not a dangerous terrorist after all."

"Just at the point everyone else decides to treat me like I am."

"Your behviour wasn't exactly professional, Mike. Which is an understatement, in case you hadn't noticed. And yes, I know you didn't ask to be that sort of professional, but that's not an excuse."

"According to you, none of us are very professional. Do you always impress new bosses by lecturing them on the importance of research and background checks?"

"Only when necessary. As, for example, when not only don't they have any reliable counter-intelligence in place at all, or any real idea what the other side is planning, they don't even have a basic priority system for grading any potential leads that do come their way."

"Look, I really am sorry about this. You had a nice job doing whatever it was you couldn't tell me you did, and then I drag you into this and you end up tramping round a diabetes clinic because someone has a friend who has a friend who thinks there's something fishy. Not exactly your dream job."

"You really can stop apologising now. Anyway, you're the one who'll be tramping round the clinic: I'll be too busy writing a report for Pearse on the manifold ways we fail to resemble a proper intelligence bureau or counter-terrorism squad or whatever it is we're failing to emulate. Starting with the abysmal internal security that let you pull that stunt of yours in the first place."

* * *

"I just don't see that sick people dying during an experimental drug trial is that suspicious. And if it is suspicious, why assume it's a Code 5? Maybe the treatment doesn't work properly. Maybe this Dr Oswin is the new Shipman. I just can't see leeches being that interested in people who've gone blind from diabetes."

"It's not that improbable. The latest treatments for diabetic retinopathy involve a protein that inhibits the abnormal growth of blood vessels. The same protein has the potential to be used to cut off blood supply to tumours, so it could be used against cancer. And in any case, they seem to be interested in anything to do with blood disorders. They're bound to want to understand what causes blood vessels to grow and to stabilitze. For that matter, they've been involved with infectious diseases before, and some respiratory infections kill by, again, destabilizing blood vessels so that fluid leaks into your lungs."

"Or then again, a friend of yours is taking part in the trial and you've start to see things lurking in every shadow."

"There's one more thing lurking in the shadows thanks to you," pointed out a voice from door, because, of course, that had to be the moment Vaughan walked in. "You coming?"

"Yeah, let me get my jacket."

Angie watched him with some disfavour. "John Goddard is an old family friend. There were few people Robert respected more. If his son is concerned, I think it's worth looking into."

* * *

Not particularly to Mike's surprise, there was a total lack of evidence that Dr Sarah Oswin was in league with anyone, or anything other than genuinely distressed at the unexplained deaths. "Anyway, from what I can see, Toby is getting less concerned by the day. In fact he seems to be falling pretty hard for our main suspect. I don't think he'd be so keen on her if he really thought she was responsible for those deaths."

Vaughan shrugged. "According to Angie, Toby already has a girlfriend. If you think he's being unnaturally helpful to Dr Oswin we should get him to come in, check him over for bites." 

"I think we're scraping the bottom of the barrel if wanting to cheat on your girlfriend is evidence of a Code V."

* * *

During the day it was relatively easy to concentrate on doing his job, however pointless, and keep the hovering tiredness at bay, but once Mike was home he collapsed on the sofa under the weight of too many sleepless nights and stayed there, unable to drag himself up to get dinner, or even a drink, his mind skittering uncontrollably from subject to subject, blurred from lack of sleep but too restless to do more than drop briefly into confused half-dreams that spun uselessly round the same points over and over again.

His friend and partner, who had his back and cut corners and always got the girl, who was reckless and never quite reliable but always there when Mike really needed him, or maybe he was always there when he really needed Mike, Mike was currently too tired to sort it out: that man was dead. In his place was something else, something that just looked like Jack, had his mannerisms and his irritating smirk, his inability to leave Mike alone and stop pushing his buttons, the same way of turning to Mike for anything he wanted, the same way of being never quite where Mike wanted him to be, never saying or doing quite what Mike wanted; he wasn't the same Jack though, however he looked, because Mike could still feel his hand at his throat, forcing him to his knees, feel the teeth in his neck and how easy it would have been to give in, give up, and however tired he is, Mike would remember if it had ever been like that before. He'd like to be cool and calm and in control, the way Vaughan would be or Angie, but his pulse spikes with fear now every time he sees Jack, this new Jack whom he wants to shoot but who won't stay properly dead, and sometimes he wakes at night, heart pounding, back in the playground, blood running down his neck, sick and sweating with terror, but no longer quite terrified enough to remember to fight. And sometimes it's Jack who's terrified, begging Mike to help him, save him, not to shoot, but that can't be right, because Jack is already dead, and Mike thinks he prefers the other dreams, where he can't breathe, knees pressed painfully into the dirt, where he can tell it can't really be Jack, can't really be real.

"They must be overworking you if you're prepared to fall asleep on me."

And Mike jerks his eyes open, tries to concentrate on Jack, who obviously shouldn't be there, but he feels like he hasn't slept for days and nothing makes sense anyway and his gun is still in the other side of the room so there's nothing he can be expected to do. It's easier to stay slumped on the sofa, to let his eyes drift close, and maybe this is the real Jack and everything was just some dream, or maybe he's asleep, and Jack isn't really here, which would make sense, because why would he risk coming here now? Although he's always been reckless, except that was the real Jack, not this one, and why is it so hard to keep them straight when they're not the same at all?

"I only wanted to tell you you're wasting your time. She's just what she seems, nothing to do with us at all."

There where echoes there, times they argued a case to and fro, when he'd respected Jack's judgement. He wonders, now, whether Jack had been corrupt before the leeches, on the take and effortlessly leading Mike in circles, or whether he's just confusing Jack then and Jack now.

"Why are you telling me this? Don't you want us to waste as much time as possible?"

"I want you to stop chasing imaginary monsters and _think_. You know me. You know what you're new friends are like. If you just look at how they behave..."

"I don't think I ever knew you."

"Sure you did, nobody better. And don't interrupt when I'm trying to be persuasive."

"Don't want you to be persuasive, want you to go away. Did you even love her really?"

"Let's give Kirsty a rest, shall we? She isn't the one running around with a bunch of murderers. Oh, don't worry, I've forgiven you for killing me: you did bring me back after all."

Mike rubbed his eyes. At least Jack was reliably infuriating enough to wake him up a bit. Almost as good as coffee. "I did that for her. And I'm still doing my job, keeping people safe."

"You're keeping Kirsty safe by bringing back someone you think it's your duty to kill on sight? Now you see why I always did the thinking and you did the legwork."

"Just get out Jack. Go away and leave us all alone." He sounded defeated even to his own ears, but he was so tired, tired of being frightened, of never sleeping through the night, tired of not knowing what he should think or even, sometimes, what he had been thinking to end up where he was, so it was very unfair that Jack wouldn't play along, wouldn't be a proper monster or a figment of his imagination or the old Jack or anything at all that would just put an end to this.

"I'm just trying to make things easier for you. You're still my friend, and I'm helping you out. And I know this isn't what you really want."

"Get _out_ , Jack."

After a while, he opened his eyes again and looked around, but Jack had gone. Unless he'd never been there in the first place, of course, and Mike could almost believe he'd lost enough sleep to start seeing things. Besides, if he wasn't hallucinating, he should probably do something, tell someone or other. He was pretty sure Frances's new security protocols would have something to say about having little social chats with leeches, even if they did use to be people you knew. Especially if they used to be people you knew. But really, it was easier to go to sleep; he could always report it next time Jack turned up.

* * *

Back on his sofa a few nights later, slightly better rested, with a drink and without Jack, Mike felt the whole thing was an obvious wild goose chase and a massive waste of time. No sign of leeches, no sign of anything suspicious except some deaths that no doubt had a perfectly normal, medical reason. Eavesdropping picked up no suspicious conversations, though there was certain amount of amusement to be had from Toby, who was torn between flirting blatantly with Dr Oswin and the occasional, very obvious, attack of guilt. His girlfriend was apparently a Croatian doctor, who was looking for a job in the UK, and every time Toby actually remembered her existence, he would put in a good word for her, without quite going so far as to mention she was his girlfriend. Which was hardly going to leave him in an enviable position should Dr Oswin actually offer the girl a job. Not that working with Dr Oswin was likely to be something anyone would want on their CV unless someone could explain those deaths.

Clinking the ice around in his glass, Mike stretched out his legs and tried a determined effort in positive thinking. Francine appeared as calm and collected as ever, and not inclined to hold it against him that he'd got her involved in all this. He'd dealt with Jack before and probably could again. His colleagues seemed to have largely forgiven him, or at least felt that knowing how leeches regenerated was worth the price. Admittedly, they'd left him investigating Dr Oswin, long after it was obvious there was nothing for him to find, but all things considered, that was hardly the worse punishment they could have come up with. And Toby was really very funny when he blushed and almost started stammering.

And there Mike was back to being depressed. He didn't want to spend his life on the outside, watching other people get on with living, and in all honesty spying made him feel a little dirty. Criminals were one thing, but listening in on normal, innocent people who would probably be mortified if they ever found out wasn't the same at all. There were plenty of times he'd cursed the rules that let criminals slip safely away from the law, but now that he seemed to be outside almost any rule, so long as he kept more or less in Pearse's favour (and that favour seemed worryingly hard to lose), he liked it rather less. If he had Vaughan's certainty that he could see which were the bad guys, everything would be fine, but he remembered too clearly not being able to tell with Kirsty, almost being taken in by Jack, though at least that had been early on, before he'd known what was going on; he didn't like not knowing which were the people he was supposed to be protecting, and which were interlopers. He'd gone into the police because he liked order, and now that order was no longer universal he was lost, looking for rules and procedures that no longer applied. He envied Frances, who could walk in and demand that from now on her version of order would apply, that the rules and procedures she was used to should still be in force, as though for her the world wasn't fractured into before and after but continued serenely on with nothing out of place.

* * *

Eventually, Angie relented and sent him to help Vaughan on other, more fruitful, cases, and not long afterwards, the whole matter was dropped when Dr Oswin herself not only cancelled the trail, but demonstrated why the treatment led to fatal complications for some of the patients - a discovery which might have been more disheartening for her if the same mechanism hadn't opened up a new and apparently very promising approach to the treatment of SARS. Mike took enough of an interest to try to read Dr Oswin's report on the trial, which he couldn't follow at all. He did see a mention of Toby's girlfriend, whom he presumed from the context must now be working with Dr Oswin, which was probably hard luck for Toby, but that seemed to be that, and would have put the matter completely from his mind if, two days later, Frances's automatic background checks hadn't revealed that Angie had been almost right after all. Dr Oswin and all the clinic staff were clean, and the deaths had been unforeseen side effects and nothing more, but the research really had been of interest to the leeches: there had been questions about the paperwork of Dr Horvat, Toby's girlfriend, and those questions had been enough to check her out, and there, _there_ was the leach, waiting in plain sight to move in and when they had left.

* * *

"Jack. What is it you want?"

"Darling Frances. You could pretend you're shocked to see me."

"I had plans for this evening. Just tell me what you want without playing games."

"Perhaps I just prefer you to Mike. At least you're not afraid of me. But then, you always were the gutsy one."

"You haven't changed a bit. And you can stop preening, that wasn't a compliment. You know I never found you as engaging as Mike did."

"Speaking of which, that's why I'm here. I'm worried about him. I don't think he's sleeping. Maybe you could take him to dinner, try to get him to relax a bit? See what's bothering him."

"That's an impressive show of concern from someone who tried to kill him."

"Is that what he told you happened? And you believed him? Well, of course you did. But you shouldn't believe him if he says he's fine. I have plans for him and I need him to be on top form."

"Now that I can believe."

"And speaking of top form, I understand congratulations are in order. Very thorough, very proper. No stone left unturned and all that. I take it your plans involve going out to celebrate? Certainly I believe the good Dr Oswin is celebrating the opportunity to take full credit for the work to date. And I imagine patients everywhere rejoice that there's one few doctor working on saving them. Do your plans include any one specific person, or can I come along?"

"I think you're confusing me with Mike. I didn't encourage you to drop by whenever you were bored even when you were alive and I'm hardly going to start now. If you have anything of substance to say I'll listen, otherwise I'm going home." Frances waited for only a moment before shaking her head and walking firmly away. 

"Hey, wait up! I'll walk back with you. Listen, I know you want to know what's really going on. Just is hear me out, and then you can talk it over with Mike and decide what you want to do, all right?" Jack fell into step beside her. "All you have to do is listen and we can take it from there." 

 


End file.
